One time, I went to the store, and they gave me a bootleg mashed potato. After I left the zoo, the potato and I went up to Inspiration Point in his ’76 Camaro. I really wasn’t sure what was going to happen up there, but I was getting worried. He edged up to the cliff, and I was envisioning a Thelma and Louiseesque bound over the cliff; but I couldn’t be so lucky. The potato put on the Barry White and needless to say, three weeks later a package, postage due, arrived on my doorstep. Inside were 45 French fries and a note from Spuderick. He told me that he couldn’t raise these fries and he needed my help. Seeing no other option, I fired up the deep fryer and had me some homestyles. Is that cannibalism?
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